I leave for Ecuador on March 1st.

It’s a Spring Break Emersion Trip

through school. I have no idea

what to expect, or what awaits.

Last year, I attended Project

Appalachia in West Virginia.

Here is a little somethin’ somethin’

about my previous experience. . .

Stepping out of the over crowded Cabrini van, packed with eleven tired, hungry and anxious students my heart began to beat a little faster than usual. As I stretched my aching legs and rubbed my eyes I took a deep breath as I looked into the mountainous view. I remember thinking, “This is West Virginia.” I was so excited, yet so scared of what was in store for me all week. I was not the kind of girl to get down and dirty, unless it was on the dance floor or singing karaoke. I was an expert in shopping and picking out cute shoes, not at hammering and putting a house together.

Not only was I unaware of what was to come, but I also could not seem to get the thought of showering in a community center out of my head. The thought alone had been creeping up on me since November when I heard that we would be taking showers in a gym like facility all week long. However, I kept a positive mind set, as I had been trying to do since early in October when we started preparing, and helped unpack the vans.

With my bright pink Vera Bradley bags lugged across my shoulders, Uggs on the feet, I entered the small little house that was going to be me home for the next five days. The first step inside I was hit with a very unfamiliar, uneasy smell. It was a hard smell. Stale. Unclean. Nauseating. I wanted to get sick. I am very sensitive to smells. Everything makes my stomach do flip flops. I could already feel my head starting to hurt. I saw the dust piled on the floor, and my normally very tiny eyes widened.

“What did I get myself into?” I thought.

I grabbed the Fabreeze that my roommate and I so cleverly packed, and sprayed the house quickly, trying not to gag all at the same time. I placed my bags my down, and looked around. I needed to get a real feel for the place. I needed to feel comfortable. I kept telling myself that it was only going to be a couple of days and that I would be fine. I tried to convince myself, but it did not seem work. Just as all of these negative feelings were going through my body, I began to walk out the door to load up and bring in more of the goodies. At this very moment, Harry, the man who would be living and helping us all week, smiled at me. It was such a warm and welcoming smile. He extended a hand and oh so quickly took it away and leaned in for a hug.

Walking back outside into the West Virginia air, I knew that I was in good hands for the week.

Monday morning came so fast. Or should I say that 7o’clock in the morning came even faster. Everyone was so exhausted, yet so excited. It was a struggle waking everyone up and getting a move on. But the task was completed, and we were soon on our way. I volunteered, along with three other students to ride in the truck with Wayne. Wayne, like Harry came to help us. He was from Greensburg, North Carolina and he had the most perfect southern draw. He wore a different colored plaid shirt every day. And blue jeans with a splash of white paint scattered about. He had ashy grey hair that just sat on the top of his head. It was never combed to the side or parted any certain way. It just fell there with a few strands out of place that he never seemed to care about.

“Have I told you this story before…” Wayne said ten minutes after our first encounter.

Our group laughed at his ease. Obviously we had not heard his story before considering the little time we had known him. At that point, I had no idea just how many infamous “Wayne stories” I would be hearing.

The drive was an hour from the house we were staying to the place we would be working on. But the very first ride to the worksite seemed more like fifteen minutes. Thanks to Wayne.

Our entire truck full could not seem to ask enough, or hear enough. Our questions ranged anywhere from coalmines to the different structure of the houses that stood before us. He told us about his family and his passion for singing in some men’s choir back home. We even talked about the books his wife liked to read.

“Wayne, how can this change? How is it fair that one house is barely standing up still and the house next door looks like the Queen would be living in it?”

Wayne thought for a second. Than he shot back with the most simple answer.

“Do something about it,” He said.

Four very little words.

The minute we got to the worksite where we would be re-building a house that had been burnt down, I could not wait to work side by side with Wayne. I knew that this would be somewhat of a struggle though since there were so many of us, and only two of them. Wayne and Harry. I was persistent at getting the chance to do some type of task with Wayne.

Finally Wayne had a job for me. Me and one of the other students were getting the opportunity to build a picnic bench for us and all the other groups that would be coming to the worksite to eat lunch on. I didn’t even pass Wood Shop in 7^th grade, and now Wayne trusted me to help build a table that people would be sitting on.

His patience was just what Nicole and I needed. No matter what we did or how awful our table was coming along, Wayne encouraged us and continually told us how great it looked. Nicole and I would tease Wayne and goof around about our drill bits and how it was “Big Blue’s” fault that our screw didn’t go in right the first time. (Big Blue was the very uncool drill that went a little out of control at times.) I never thought that it would take so long to make a picnic table. But to the contrary, it took us practically an entire work day to complete it. The others in our group were doing far more exciting things, such as lifting this huge beam above their heads, and actually doing work on the house. However, Wayne never seemed to even notice that he was not taking part in any of it. He was so content with just building the picnic table with us and taking his time until it was just right. We would mess up a lot, and he would say,

“Just put the drill in reverse and do it again, you’re awesome!”

Friday morning was here before we knew it. The day we had to say our goodbyes to Harry and Wayne. Our goodbye to each other, and to our little house that I was not so keen about even living in. I did not want the other group of people who would be arriving the week after us to be living in “our” house and cooking in “our” kitchen.

Thursday night felt so surreal. I could not believe that in only a couple of hours we would be leaving Gilbert, West Virginia and going back to Cabrini. I didn’t even know a life like West Virginia existed, or a life with me in West Virginia was even possible, and now I was unsure of going back to the life I always knew. A huge part of me could not wait to get back and to tell my parents every tiny detail that went on. Than this other huge part of me wanted to keep having more moments and more memories.

A month after our return, our group found out that we would be going back to finish up on the house.

“YES!”

We are going back, and again, a million thoughts are rushing over me. I cannot wait to meet back up with all of the amazing people that I traveled there in the first place with. I could not wait to go back and see Wayne, who yes, will be returning with us. It was supposed to be a secret, but lets be serious…Wayne? Keep a secret? I don’t think so.

Twenty-two students gave up their Spring Break. Gave up the chance to party hard at the beach and drink until the sun came up. And Wayne and Harry. Two men who lived with a group of college students for an entire week and seemed to love every minute of it. Never complained or had one bad thing to say about any of us. At least to our faces! And Wayne especially, the real outsider of this entire thing, participated so openly and freely. Even when it meant playing in our sing-a-long night, long after Harry had already gone to bed.

“Here I have a song for ya’ll, I don’t know if I remember all the words.”

We all looked around and smiled.

“Have a little faith in Jesus…have a little faith in me…” he sang so proudly and willingly as he tapped his hands on his leg.

Now that’s what I call a miracle.

Stay tuned for the story when I return

from Ecuador in a few weeks.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 20th, 2008 at 7:43 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.